


Warpath

by Evoxine



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternative Universe - FBI, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crime Fighting, Crimes & Criminals, Drug cartels, Established Relationship, Frottage, Kindergarten Teacher Kim Jongin, M/M, Mild Trauma, Non-Explicit Sex, Non-Graphic Violence, Organized Crime, Original Character Death(s), Separation Anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:54:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25670884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evoxine/pseuds/Evoxine
Summary: Jongin has a great life. He's got a loving husband, a fantastic job, and wonderful friends. Everything is goingsowell that as his second wedding anniversary approaches, Jongin thinks it's the right time to bring up expanding their family.But when his businessman husband goes missing the day before their anniversary and he receives a call from the National Intelligence Bureau, he finds out that things are not always as they seem.
Relationships: Kim Jongin | Kai/Oh Sehun
Comments: 35
Kudos: 226
Collections: Kaifectionery Round 4





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt #71.

Incessant beeping fights its way through the sleepy fog filling Jongin’s mind, and despite his hardest attempts to keep the noise at bay, it turns out to be a losing battle. With a muted groan, Jongin rolls onto his stomach and cracks an eye open. He sees that the other side of the bed is empty, the sheets rumpled and the pillow creased with a weight only recently lifted. 

The scent of freshly brewed coffee trickles into the room, followed soon after by soft whistles that can only come from the lips of his husband. Jongin smiles sleepily into his pillow at the mere thought of him, a man full of bright laughter and gentle smiles, arguably better with the little ones than he is. 

His day truly starts after he’s washed up and dressed, because that means it’s time to head downstairs and give Sehun his morning kiss. Sehun is exactly where Jongin expected him to be, hip resting against the counter and nursing a mug of coffee as he waits for the eggs to fry. 

“Good morning,” Jongin says, pressing a kiss to the highest point of Sehun’s cheekbone. “Slept well?”

Sehun returns the kiss, lips catching the edge of Jongin’s jaw. “I did, although it got a bit cold thanks to you hogging all the covers.”

With a sheepish grin, Jongin pours out some coffee into his favourite mug (it matches Sehun’s) and finishes the rest of the milk. He looks up just in time to catch the tail end of a fond smile that Sehun sends his way before his attention is redirected to the eggs, and the surge of affection he feels for his partner takes him by surprise.

He shouldn’t be surprised, not when they’ve been together for half a decade. But every day serves as a startling reminder of how much he loves him, and Jongin has come to live for these reminders. 

“All done,” Sehun declares, sliding two perfect sunny-side-up eggs onto a plate already filled with fresh fruit, a toasted bagel, and two slices of bacon. Jongin watches as Sehun grabs their bottle of ketchup and draws a smiley onto one of the eggs. His stomach rumbles happily at the sight.   
  
He takes the proffered plate and says, “You’re fucking cute, you know that, right?”

Sehun winks at him. “I do. Glad you know it too.”

As someone who doesn’t have the appetite to eat a heavy breakfast in the morning, Sehun joins Jongin at the table with just his coffee and half a bagel heavily smothered with cream cheese. 

Jongin tucks into his breakfast, not batting an eye when Sehun’s feet come to rest on his lap as the latter scans through the morning news. Waking up a little earlier than necessary might sound like a challenge to some, but Jongin has been doing so ever since they moved in together. He could always eat breakfast at work with the kids, but he’d rather spend time with Sehun before they separate for the day. 

“Mm, I might be a little late tonight, love. Want me to buy some dinner back or do you still want to cook?”

“I’ll cook,” Jongin says around a mouthful of eggs. He squeezes Sehun’s ankle, thumbs absently at a sliver of skin. “Mom sent me a few recipes that I want to try. She’s been saying that we need to eat food that reminds us of where we come from.” 

A laugh, then Sehun’s swinging his legs off Jongin’s lap and standing, heading into the kitchen to rinse out his mug. “Okay, looking forward to it. Maybe we can even do a little photo shoot of the food, send the pictures to your mother?” 

Jongin finishes his breakfast just in time to meet Sehun by the front door, where he fixes Sehun’s tie and smoothes out imaginary wrinkles in the lapels of his suit jacket. 

It’s one of the days they manage to leave the house together, Jongin locking up behind them before they part ways to go to their separate cars. With their workplaces in completely different directions, this is the best they can do.

“I’ll text you when I’m on the way home,” Sehun promises, letting Jongin pull him in by his tie to kiss him square on the mouth. “Have a good day at work, hope the little ones don’t give you too much grief!” 

With a wave, Sehun gets into his car and starts the engine, and it isn’t long before he’s driving down the road and disappearing around a corner. 

  
Jongin works as a kindergarten teacher, which means his days are always full of spilt food, paint streaks, and shrieks that threaten to shatter his eardrums. Despite all the obstacles in his way, however, Jongin loves his job. After all, what can be more rewarding than all the sweet smiles gifted upon him and trusting little fingers wrapped around his index?

Sometimes, Jongin will find himself curled up on a beanbag while the kids take their afternoon naps, wondering what it’d be like to have kids of his own. They’ve discussed it a couple of times since their marriage and Sehun has always seemed quite open to the idea, but it just never seemed like the right time.

Now, with their second wedding anniversary coming up, maybe it’s time to broach the subject once more. 

He has always believed that Sehun would be an amazing father, the sentiment echoed by his friends on the rare days Sehun has a day off and decides to drop by the kindergarten. The kids love him, bursting with excitement whenever Sehun’s head pops around the classroom door, eager to show him their art projects or the masterpieces they have built from Legos. The man is a ray of sunlight to the kids’ growing sprouts and by god, does Jongin want to have a kid with him. 

“Oh,” Irene says suddenly, a stick of carrot poking out the corner of her mouth. “It’s your anniversary soon, right?”

The kids are outside playing, supervised by a couple of teachers while the rest take their lunch break. Irene is one of his closest friends, having met nearly a decade ago through a mutual acquaintance. She was the one who recommended him for this job at the kindergarten, and she has been around since the day Jongin bumped into Sehun at the movies and fell instantly in love. 

“It is,” Jongin confirms, “eight more days. Can’t believe that it’s already been two years.”

“Can’t believe it’s _only_ been two years,” she corrects, “you two act like you’ve been married for much longer. So what are your plans for the big day? Don’t tell me you’ll cry again.”

Jongin throws a broken crayon at her that she dodges with impeccable skill. “Will you stop making fun of me for that! I cried at the _wedding_ , okay, not during our first anniversary.”

Snickering, Irene steals one of Jongin’s apple slices and sinks her teeth into the crisp flesh. 

“Actually, I was gonna ask your opinion on something.” He looks out the window at the kids, at bright laughter and dirt-streaked cheeks. “What do you think of us adopting?”

Irene hums, “I’m flattered, but I don’t think Sehun would be very happy if you and I adopted a kid.”

Jongin pinches the bridge of his nose. “ _Irene_.”

“Okay, okay. I think the two of you would make great parents, Jongin. You’re naturally wonderful with kids and Sehun’s just good with people in general.” She takes a sip of water. “Planning on asking him about that, I’m guessing?”

“Yeah. We’ve talked about it a couple of times before, but we weren’t ready back then. Now that we’ve settled into life together, I just…I dunno, I really want kids with him.”

The mischievous light always present in Irene’s eyes fades to a fondness that has Jongin shifting awkwardly in his seat. He’s not used to this – she spends most of her time cracking (lame) jokes and teasing Jongin for the smallest stuff, so Irene being heartfelt is a very rare occurrence.

“He’d be a fool to not want kids with you,” she says, reaching across the table to squeeze Jongin’s hand. “I don’t think you have much to worry about anyway, have you seen the way he looks at you? You’re the only one he wants to spend the rest of his life with, and I’m pretty sure he knows that kids are gonna be a part of that at some point.”

Her eyes narrow in thought. “Hey, I’ll be their godmother, right?”

Jongin laughs and pulls her into a hug. 

  
Held down by Sehun’s head pillowed in his lap, Jongin has to stretch as far as he can in order to brush his fingertips against the television remote. There’s a blockbuster playing and it’s been quite interesting so far, but Jongin can’t exactly hear everything clearly thanks to the game Sehun’s playing on his phone. 

Just a slight increase in volume is good enough and Jongin settles back into the cushions to continue watching, fingers absently carding through his husband’s freshly washed hair as Sehun taps away at his screen. Nights like these are Jongin’s favourite, where they can enjoy each other’s presence without feeling the need to exchange words. 

A commercial break comes on just as Sehun finishes whatever he’s been doing on his game. He stretches audibly, features scrunching up and phone dropping from his grip, disappearing somewhere between the couch cushions. Jongin looks down just to catch Sehun twisting around onto his side and burying his face into Jongin’s stomach. 

“Hi,” he says fondly. “Done with your game?”

Sehun’s reply is muffled in his shirt as an arm winds around his middle. Ah, Jongin loves a sleepy Sehun – he gets extra cuddly and it’s such a stark difference to his suave business persona that Jongin treasures this Sehun a little more. 

“Hey, don’t forget to ask for Tuesday off.”

The movie comes back on, but Jongin’s attention is entirely on Sehun now. 

“I already did,” Sehun says, cheek squished and eyes half-shut. “I’m all yours starting Monday, 6 P.M.”

Jongin thumbs at the tiny scar on Sehun’s cheekbone. “Wanna go to bed?”

“But it’s still early. Going to bed early means –” He’s interrupted by the ringing of his phone, the sound muted as vibrations seep through the seat. Sehun grimaces, knowing exactly who it is on the other end thanks to the especially ominous ringtone he’d set for his boss. Jongin laughs and digs around for Sehun’s phone. “Sorry, love. I’ll be right back.”

Now seemingly wide awake, Sehun takes his phone from Jongin and heads off in the direction of their kitchen. 

“Hello? No, it’s alright. What’s…”

Jongin tunes back into the movie, having learned from experience that because Sehun’s conversations with his boss can sometimes last for thirty minutes (and occasionally much longer), there’s no point waiting around for his return. Might as well try to figure out what important plot point he’s missed. 

Sure enough, he’s completely immersed in the film by the time Sehun returns, sprawled out on the couch with a pillow tucked underneath his chin. 

“You look comfortable,” Sehun comments, unceremoniously draping himself over Jongin’s frame. As Sehun’s full body weight settles onto him, Jongin lets out a wheeze – the man is not light whatsoever, not when he’s a good 6 foot of lean muscle.

“Not anymore I’m not,” he chokes, hands pinned awkwardly to his chest. Sehun grins down at him, all fluffy hair and crescent eyes, and completely unapologetic. He’s distracting Jongin from the movie _again_ , but when he’s got the faint scent of lilies in his nose and the warmth of soft skin against his throat, Jongin thinks it’s a worthy sacrifice. 

It’s a tight squeeze on the couch, but they make do by throwing all the pillows onto the floor and interlocking their legs. Seems like it’s Jongin’s turn to be the big spoon tonight. 

Sehun pulls Jongin’s arms around him and uses one as a headrest. “Can you even see the TV?”

Honestly, all Jongin can see is the curve of Sehun’s ear and a whole bunch of his hair. 

“Yeah, I can.” He presses his lips to the thrum of Sehun’s pulse. 

  
There’s paint of all colours streaked down his arms and fingers. The kids are busy being artists, paint pots scattered all over tables as they draw lines and shapes onto sheets of paper with tiny fingertips, and as their teacher, Jongin has to get down and dirty with them. 

He’s drawn far too many flowers to count, and he’s on his fifth sun of the day when someone knocks on his classroom door. Looking up, Jongin sees Johnny’s tall frame fill up the doorway. His colleague’s got the school’s phone in his hand and a frown on his face – something Jongin rarely sees. 

“Hey, what’s up?”

Johnny lifts the phone. “Um, I think you might wanna take this call?”

“Who is it?”

“Well,” Johnny begins, gaze sweeping over the room of kids. He doesn’t seem to want to say. “Just – answer the call. Out in the hallway. I’ll keep an eye on them.”

Something in his gut tells him to stop asking questions, so Jongin wipes wet paint off his hands and stands. He accepts the phone offered to him and switches places with Johnny, waiting until the door shuts behind the other’s back before he raises the phone to his ear. 

“Hello?”

“Good afternoon. Am I speaking to Mr. Kim Jongin?”

“Yes, who is this?”

The answer that follows is so unexpected that Jongin’s mind blanks out for far too long. 

“...’lo? Hello?”

Faint crackling in his ear has Jongin jumping. “I’m sorry, come again?”

“Mr. Kim, I’m calling from the National Intelligence Bureau. My name is Kim Junmyeon, SAC of the organised crime division. It is imperative that I speak to you now. Are you available?”

“I – yes, I am –”

“Great, please head outside. There is a vehicle currently waiting to bring you to the Bureau.”

“What? Can’t we just speak on the phone? I’m at work.”

“Unfortunately, I cannot divulge any classified information over the phone. Please, Mr. Kim. It’s important.”

Jongin walks over to the window and rises up on his toes to look past the line of shrubs outside. His view is still mostly blocked, but he can make out the top of a black SUV, complete with tinted windows. 

“How do I know you’re who you say you are?”

“The agents waiting have their credentials, and if necessary, I can provide you with my employee ID so that you may call the Bureau and verify my identity. But doing so will be a waste of time.” Kim Junmyeon pauses and Jongin can hear the faint sound of paper being shuffled. “This concerns your husband, Mr. Kim.”

Jongin’s blood runs cold. 

“I’m coming.” He hangs up and barges back into his classroom, thoughts running much too wild to care about scaring the kids with his sudden reappearance or the bang of the door. He can feel Johnny’s eyes on him as he gathers up his things; phone, keys, wallet. “Hey, I gotta go for a bit. Can you find someone to cover my class?”

“Yeah, sure. Is everything okay?”

Jongin stops at the door, eyes fixed on a speck of paint that had ended up on his shoe. “I don’t know,” he admits, voice barely a whisper. 

He leaves when Johnny doesn’t respond, palms clammy and heart lodged in his throat. 

  
Turns out Kim Junmyeon really is who he says he is, after all. 

Seated in a plush chair on the other side of a very wide, very polished table, Jongin stares at the embossed nameplate placed in a corner: **KIM JUNMYEON, SAC, ORGANISED CRIME**. The man in question is busy talking (or listening, rather) on the phone, his nails trimmed and polished, suit freshly pressed, and smelling like the most expensive cologne on the planet. 

Saying Jongin is on the edge of freaking out is probably an understatement. 

He wants to demand for Kim Junmyeon to hang up and _talk to him, damnit_ , but he’s also dreading whatever could possibly come out of the agent’s mouth. So he ends up sitting there silently, body wound up so tightly that a muscle is bound to cramp up soon. 

Suddenly, Kim Junmyeon ends the call with a curt “Goodbye” and straightens his tie. Forearms coming to rest on the desk, the agent leans forward and fixes Jongin with an unreadable look. 

“Mr. Kim,” he begins, voice smooth and almost melodious. “Sorry for making you wait, but it was imperative that I answer that call. It has to do with why you are here.” Jongin watches as a fingertip taps against a manila folder. From his position, he can’t quite make out the words written across the middle in block letters. “You are here because your husband, Oh Sehun, is one of our special agents. He’s been working on a case for the past year or so involving one of the region’s largest drug cartels –”

“What?” Jongin is so close to bursting out in hysterical laughter. Sehun? His husband? A special agent? Impossible. “Impossible.” He leans back in his seat, as far away from Kim Junmyeon as he can get. This man must be insane. “There’s _no_ way Sehun is an agent.”

The agent slides the folder over to Jongin. “I understand that this is hard to digest.” He gestures to the file. “All details that I’m able to divulge are in this folder. Feel free to do with it what you will.”

Jongin stares at him, fingers twitching with the sudden urge to sink his fist into the man’s face. He has a thousand questions swimming in his mind and he pushes through the flood of words before landing on, “Where is he?”

“That is the problem. We don’t know where he is.”

“You don’t – _excuse me?_ ” Jongin can feel his eyes bugging out of his head. “You don’t know where he is?”

“We lost contact with him this morning; he’d gone out on the field and failed to report back. For the past few hours, we’ve been trying to track him down, but our efforts have so far proved futile. Has he attempted to contact you in any way?”

This isn’t some fucked up, complicated prank, Jongin realises. Kim Junmyeon is expecting an answer from him because Sehun _is_ missing.

“No,” Jongin answers, deflating. He shivers at the wave of dread that crashes over him. “He hasn’t.”

Kim Junmyeon hums in thought, fingers steepling. “Alright. If you hear from him, please let me know as soon as possible. The longer he stays in the dark, the more danger he’s in.” There’s a note of finality in his voice and Jongin tightens his grip around the file. 

“Can I leave?”

“Of course. Thank you for taking the time. I’ll have an agent escort you out, and the vehicle that brought you here will send you back to your workplace.” Kim Junmyeon rises, hands smoothing down the front of his suit. “And I’m sure you understand, Mr. Kim, anything in that file is entirely confidential. If possible, do destroy the pages after you have read them.” 

Jongin simply nods, limbs moving automatically to bring him to the door. 

“We will do our best to find him,” he hears before he opens the door. “Try not to worry.”

  
It’s still bright out when he gets home. The first thing Jongin does is take a scalding hot shower, standing under the spray of water until his skin pinks and the pads of his fingers wrinkle. Then, stark naked and shivering in the middle of the bedroom he shares with his husband, Jongin calls Sehun. 

In the milliseconds that it takes for the call to be placed, Jongin has hope. 

But as soon as he’s sent straight to voicemail, he cracks. Drops of water trail after him as he makes his way to their bed and crawls under the covers, heedless of the fact that there are wet patches blooming across his pillowcase and into the sheets. Clutching Sehun’s pillow to his chest, Jongin shuts his eyes, allowing the panic to take over and manifest in terrified tears and gasps that rattle his frame. 

The folder that he’d brought back from the agency is sitting on the dining table, still unopened. 

_Why didn’t Sehun tell him anything?_

Logically, Jongin already knows why. If everything he’d just learned was true, then Sehun had kept his job a secret out of necessity and safety. But it’s still deeply upsetting, because they’d vowed to never keep secrets from each other, to always be honest and truthful. 

At some point, he falls into a fitful sleep, eyelids swollen and heavy from crying. He wakes up in the middle of the night, shivering despite the blankets drawn up to his shoulders and feeling achingly lonely. Body on autopilot, Jongin dresses in the dark and presses redial, phone pressed against his ear. 

It goes to voicemail again and Jongin strides out into the living room, the space swathed in darkness, and heads straight for the folder. 

Sitting against the wall, Jongin uses the illumination from the standing lamp to read. The folder contains only a few sheets of paper with many words redacted and blocked out in black, but there’s just enough information in there for Jongin to know that Sehun is in deep. From what he’s able to understand, Sehun has been working on this case for fourteen months, gathering intel on the Zeta Cartel – areas of influence, logistics and distribution, power structure… 

The name is familiar; Jongin has seen the Cartel on the news several times, be it for violence (murders) against civilians or rival cartels, drug busts, or the arrests of lieutenants. In fact, he remembers Sehun commenting on those very headlines, all the while likely having had first-hand knowledge of them. But even with proof, it’s hard for Jongin to believe. 

Ever since they’d met all those years ago, Jongin has never picked up on anything suspicious when it came to Sehun and his job. The man works regular hours – still does –, leaves his work laptop open and unattended at home, lets Jongin play with his phone, and has even introduced Jongin to several of his colleagues. 

Although… 

Jongin closes the folder and lets his head bounce off the wall behind him. Sehun has never once let Jongin meet him at his office for lunch when he has a day off, always telling him that they’ll meet at the restaurant instead. Is that the reason why? He doesn’t want Jongin to see his workplace because it’s the goddamn National Intelligence Bureau? 

He digs the heels of his palms into his eyes and exhales. 

The house feels too big now, too empty, and Jongin just wants Sehun home. 

“I’m not angry,” he whispers into the gloom, hoping that the night will carry his words to the person they’re meant for. “I promise I’m not. Come home.”

Apart from the faint rumble of a motorcycle out on the streets, Jongin doesn’t get a response. He sits there for a while longer, the rug (picked out by Sehun) soft under his toes and the weight of his wedding ring heavy on his finger. 

A glance at the screen of his phone tells him that it’s nearly two in the morning, which means that it’s Tuesday – their wedding anniversary. Jongin feels a fresh wave of tears rising to the surface when he thinks about the day that he’d planned, from surprise morning sex to late-night stargazing up on the peak of the hill where they’d gone for their first date. Now, none of that will happen and Jongin is left spending a special day by himself.

Unable to spend another second ruminating over this, Jongin picks himself up off the floor and heads into the guest toilet where they keep all their cleaning supplies. He hasn’t done this since the day before his first day at work, but it’s a tried-and-true method to keep his mind and body occupied. 

Jongin cleans the entire place from top to bottom – light fixtures, under the couch, the inner corners of the kitchen cabinets. It’s dawn by the time he runs out of things to clean, lower back aching and the skin of his hands rough thanks to the chemicals. 

He sits at the dining table with a pile of cleaning supplies by his feet and rests his head in his hands. This is not at all how he thought today would go. He’s never felt so lost. 

The landline rings, shrill and heartstopping. Jongin’s heart does a somersault in his ribcage and he forgets just how exhausted he is as he makes a mad dash for the phone, almost tripping over a bucket in the process. 

“Sehun?”

“Um, no, but also kinda? Are you Kim Jongin?” 

Jongin doesn’t recognise this voice. 

“Who is this?”

“I was told not to tell you my name…Um, look, this guy named Sehun wanted me to pass you a message.”

“You saw him?” He’s alive!

“What?”

“Did you see him in person?”

“Yeah, I did, why –”

“Describe him to me. Please.”

Blessedly, the person on the other end does so without asking why, and Jongin is satisfied that the person he saw is indeed Sehun. There’s no guarantee, of course, but he so desperately wants it to be true that he’s willing to believe the stranger on the other end. 

“Okay. What message did he want you to pass on?”

“He said: ‘Tell Jongin to look for his anniversary present that I hid.’.”

Jongin blinks. “That’s…that’s it?”

“Yeah. Dunno man, makes no sense to me obviously, but maybe you can read between the lines. Anyways, I gotta go. This is weird.”

Before he can think of stopping him, Jongin is left listening to the dial tone. Too caught up in his thoughts, he nearly drops the phone in his attempt to set it back onto its cradle. His present? 

Sehun has always boasted about how he has a hiding spot for presents in the house that Jongin will never find, and Jongin has tried on multiple occasions – birthdays, anniversaries, Christmases, you name it – to find the said location, but he has always turned up empty-handed.

There must be something important hidden if Sehun had risked contact with someone just to get this message to him. Just as Jongin is about to start his search, a passing truck blares its horn and sends him jumping ten feet into the air. Honestly, some drivers really have no consideration. Why would a truck need to use its horn anyway? It’s too early for there to be traffic.

Wait a minute, unless… The fine hairs on the back of his neck rises. 

Jongin walks over to a window that looks out towards the front street and pinches the edge of the curtain between his fingers. The street is quiet after the passing of the truck, cars still parked in driveways as people manage to slumber through the noise, alarm clocks poised to ring for another shock. Jongin peels the curtain back ever-so-slightly and peers out. 

There, parked a few houses down, sits a black sedan with tinted windows. 

The roads here are narrow enough for two cars to pass each other, but not when there’s a truck in the equation. Jongin guesses that the sedan was in the truck’s way, leading to the horn. 

He has never seen that car in the neighbourhood before, and with everything that has happened in the last twenty-four hours, he’s ready to bet his entire life on that car belonging to the Bureau. Why would they be watching him? Are they waiting to see if Sehun returns home? Would they tail him if he left now? Do they suspect him?

He carefully lets the curtain fall back down. 

Their house isn’t big by any means, cosy and just spacious enough for the two of them. Jongin is immensely thankful for that fact now as he heads into the guest bedroom and looks around. If his husband is really a special agent who has managed to hide a whole part of his life from him, then this hiding spot will be a real bitch to find.

He starts off with the obvious places – he looks into drawers and cupboards, then under the mattress and bedframe, before lifting paintings to see if there are safes behind them. When he turns up empty-handed, Jongin starts looking for hollowed out walls and false drawer bottoms, practically dismantling the furniture as he continues his search. 

In the end, the guest bedroom is empty of any secrets. He moves into the guest bathroom and repeats it all. 

It’s almost 5 in the afternoon when Jongin finds it. Under the ninth stair is a hidden compartment, the wood solid enough to not sound hollow when weight is placed upon it, and a titanium latch prevents it from opening should anyone accidentally kick the step. 

Inside is a safe, locked by a code and a thumbprint. Jongin stares at the tiny scanner and feels himself deflate, the adrenaline boost he’d gotten when he discovered the hidden compartment now completely gone. How is he going to open it without Sehun here? He sits on the step below, back against the bannister, and is just about to descend into a pit of frustration when he remembers. 

A few months ago, they’d stumbled across a show about little things to learn that might come in handy one day. Together, they learned – well, Sehun probably just pretended to learn, now that Jongin thinks about it – how to lift a print off a surface with just three things. Jongin scrambles upright, already mentally going through what he needs. 

It takes a while to dig up a brush small enough for the task, but he finds one in a desk drawer, hidden in the back. With the brush in hand, a roll of Scotch tape around his finger, and a container of cornstarch, he grabs Sehun’s (still unwashed) coffee mug out of the sink and sets it on the counter. 

The man has a habit of not using mug handles, a fact that Jongin has always noticed but never expected it to come in handy. Now, as he dusts a fine layer of cornstarch over the surface of the mug, he wonders if Sehun doesn’t use mug handles on purpose. 

God, the revelation of Sehun’s true occupation is really turning his world upside down – Jongin can’t help but look back at everything that Sehun has done and wondering if there’s an underlying reason. He grits his teeth and attempts to refocus. Overthinking now is not going to do him any favours. 

Blessedly, the cornstarch reveals a perfect print on the side of the mug. With bated breath, Jongin lays a piece of tape over it and lets it sit for a while before he peels it off. He holds it up to the light and grins at the perfect print that he sees. 

Alright, now to figure out what the code is. 

Can’t be either of their birthdays, can’t be their anniversary date or the date they first met, can’t be anything personal, really. Well, at least that’s the logic Jongin thinks an agent would have. But if Sehun ever banked on Jongin needing to open this safe, then it has to be something he can think of. So it has to be something personal to _Jongin_. 

Of course. Jongin sticks the thumbprint over the scanner and keys in six digits. 

The safe beeps red. 

That’s okay. If it takes three tries to open the safe, he’s got another two sets of numbers. 

He keys in the second set. It beeps red again. 

“Really? You choose the dog that hates me the most?” Jongin mutters, punching in the last set. 

The safe unlocks with a heavy click and Jongin can’t help but laugh. Inside are several documents, a brand new passport, two handguns along with a few boxes of ammo, and a phone. It’s identical to Sehun’s own phone and Jongin switches it on without a second thought. Stuck to the screen of the phone is a sticky note. 

_Play the voice recording_ is written out in neat block letters, followed by _Never call using this phone while you’re at home._

Jongin checks the contact list as soon as the phone loads and he sees only one number saved without a name. His thumb hovers over the number of a few long seconds, the desire to call who he assumes is Sehun and hear his voice almost strong enough to overpower the words on the note. But he holds back and switches to the voice recording app instead. 

He hits Play on the only audio file available, dated just a few weeks ago, and presses the phone to his ear. 

“Hi love.” Jongin closes his eyes. It’s only been less than forty-eight hours since he’d last heard Sehun’s voice, but hearing it now has something seizing in his heart. “If you’re listening to this, then I’m probably MIA and Junmyeon’s spoken to you. I know you’re freaking out, but don’t worry about me, okay? I’m tougher than I look.” 

There’s a pause, a muffled noise, then Sehun’s speaking again. “Listen to me, you cannot trust anyone, Jongin. A few months ago, I began suspecting that there’s a mole in the team and I started carrying out my own investigation, and over the past couple of weeks, I’m pretty sure whoever it is caught on. A C.I. that I’ve been communicating with has just been murdered by the cartel, likely as a warning to me, and two others are missing.

“You _cannot_ trust anyone. I don’t know who the mole is yet, but if I’ve disappeared, that means they’re after me and I’m on the run. You watch a lot of spy movies, Jongin, and you’ve always had a knack for figuring out who’s trustworthy and who isn’t. I hope your instincts will serve you well again. Keep this phone with you on airplane mode; when you’re out of the house and able to grab a moment’s privacy, call me. It’s likely that they’ve already bugged the house or the phone line, so never say anything that could make it seem like you know something. If the mole from the agency finds out that we’re communicating, you’ll be in danger.”

Jongin hears his husband sigh. “I’m sorry I had to keep all this from you, but I risk a lot more by telling you – your safety, Jongin, is key. You’re sleeping now, you know, half-buried under the covers, and it scares me to know that one day in the very near future, I might not be able to wake up to you by my side for a while. But if that ever happens, I promise I’ll make my way back home somehow. Love you.”

The recording ends and Jongin is left swimming in a whirlpool of emotions. 

It’s a lot to juggle at once, but he doesn’t have much of a choice. This isn’t some elaborate trick – this is happening, and if he wants his husband back, he’s gonna have to adapt. 

Jongin lets out a stream of air and deletes the voice message. The recording, coupled with the call he’d received from that stranger earlier and the car outside, paint a bleak picture. He dips back into the safe for the guns and the ammo, then doubles back for the documents. The heavy safe door hisses shut and Jongin lowers the step, setting the latch back in place. 

Outside, thunder rumbles low and deep, and the rusty sunset darkens imperceptibly. 

Jongin heads into the kitchen, keeping the lights off, and looks out the window again. The car is still there. Well, time to act like he hasn’t just had his world rocked by a message from his missing husband. Switching on the lights, Jongin gets started on preparing a quick dinner. He should stick to somewhat of a routine in case they’ve been surveilling him (and Sehun) for a while, right? Do nothing too much out of the ordinary while acting like a worried spouse who has no idea where his husband is? 

Well, it’s not exactly far from the truth, he supposes. 

A worried spouse has to eat at some point, Jongin reasons, especially since he skipped lunch in favour of upending his own house. He fixes himself a sandwich and heats up a can of soup, hip against the counter as he eats. Chew, swallow, chew, swallow, repeat. Once he’s done, he dumps the dishes in the sink and goes to hunt down his own phone. 

It rings three times before Irene picks up.

“Hey, what are you doing calling me on –”

“It’s a long story,” Jongin cuts in, “that I won’t be able to tell you about for a while. I have to take another couple of days off at least, so maybe call in a temp or split my class between two others.”

Irene trips over something and lets out a string of colourful swears that Jongin knows will greatly entertain the agent(s) listening in. “Ow, fuck, what? Why? Where are you going?” 

“Long story,” Jongin repeats. “I’m sorry, I know it’s last minute, but I’d really appreciate this favour.”

Her imagination is probably running wild now and Jongin feels horrible for doing this to her, but it’s better than just not showing up at work tomorrow with no warning. At least this way, there’ll be arrangements made and the kids won’t have their routines too disrupted. 

“Jongin –”

“Just some personal things I have to settle, ‘Rene. I’ll call you again soon, okay? I owe you one.”

Jongin hangs up, feeling like he could sleep for twenty hours. Maybe he _will_ sleep for twenty hours, so when he wakes up, he’ll have the energy to think about how to contact Sehun without the Bureau finding out. If they really have tapped into their phone lines, then they would've logged the call from the stranger earlier, which means they know he's alive. 

Mind made up, he makes quick work of the few dishes and switches the lights off. After making sure that the front door is locked, Jongin heads upstairs and into the shower. 

  
Shirt in hand, Jongin yanks the curtains open and does a quick scan of the street outside. He doesn’t linger by the window, but he catches sight of something sleek and black just as he turns back around to finish dressing. Ah, it seems like he’s been placed under 24-hour surveillance. 

Surprisingly, what little sleep he had managed to nab (for despite how drained he was, he spent most of the night tossing and turning, unused to the empty space next to him) seems to be enough. Before he could even finish brushing his teeth, he’d thought of a place he could go for a brief moment of utter privacy, which is where he’s getting ready to head to. 

On his way out the door, Jongin grabs a pair of sunglasses to hide the shadows under his eyes and a windbreaker to hide the gun he’s about to stow in the glove compartment. He heads straight for his car, the engine rumbling to life as soon as he buckles in. 

It’s a decently long drive, but the time spent getting there will be worth it. Before they got engaged and moved to their current neighbourhood, Jongin lived all the way across the city. Sehun, bless his heart, would always happily drive down for dates instead of asking Jongin to brave the shitty traffic going the other way. 

Due to busy schedules, they were only able to meet during nights, which is how they came to frequent a quaint little 24-hour family-run diner a few streets away from Jongin’s apartment. It’s been a while since they’ve had the time to make the trip back to one of the few places that have witnessed the growth of their love, and going back under these circumstances is definitely not ideal. Yet here he is, driving down the highway with a certain car always visible in his rearview mirror. 

An hour and a half later, Jongin pulls into an empty spot and climbs out of the car. He walks out onto the sidewalk, right past the black sedan as it cruises by in search of somewhere inconspicuous to park and observe. It’s hilarious, really, how obvious they are once he’d noticed them. 

Jongin walks into the diner and is instantly met with a happy squeal from the matron of the family, a middle-aged woman named Emy.

“Oh my; sweet boy! I never thought I’d see you again!”

“Don’t say that,” Jongin groans, “it makes me feel bad!”

She laughs, pulling him in by the wrist to kiss his cheek. “Well, you should! You and that lovely husband of yours haven’t popped by in a long time; I’ve started to think that you’ve forgotten all about us. How have you been? Why isn’t Sehun with you today?”

Jongin lies right through his teeth, “Oh, he’s busy. I had the day off and I thought I’d enjoy the drive down here to pick some food up for him. He really misses your shepherd’s pie, you know. Says nothing else compares.” Okay, he’s not lying about the shepherd’s pie, at least.

Feathers fluffed, Emy pours out a glass of iced water for him and squeezes his shoulder. “I’ll get that started right away. You want your usual?”

The door chime tinkles and Jongin sees a man enter through the reflection of the pastry case. He looks incredibly out of place – _Bureau probably doesn’t offer diner food_ , Jongin thinks. 

“Yes please. Oh, could I use your staff bathroom? I uh, gotta do some business and I don’t want to torture the other customers.”

Emy waves at the agent and gestures for one of her sons to serve him. Jongin waves hello as he passes. “Sure, honey. Here’s the key, and you know where the air freshener is.”

Three and a half years ago, it was in this very diner that Sehun found out he could not stomach a particular type of cheese. If it wasn’t for Emy’s graciousness in letting him use the staff bathroom, the whole establishment would’ve found out as well. 

The bathroom is located through the kitchen, far away from the diners and the general bathroom, and is out of bounds for customers (unless you’re Jongin or Sehun). Which means it’s the perfect place for a secret call. As soon as he stands and heads towards the back of the restaurant, he feels eyes on him. 

He puts up a whole act, setting a hand over his stomach and furrowing his brows as he shuffles out of sight. Once he’s in the kitchen and the doors swing shut behind him, however, he makes a beeline for the bathroom. One of the (new) cooks, bewildered at Jongin’s sudden entrance, asks someone else who he is. 

Before Jongin can hear the response, he’s already in the bathroom and pulling out the phone. 

He hits dial and waits with bated breath. 

“Jongin?”

“Sehun? Oh my god, are you okay?”

“I’m okay, I promise. I’m not hurt, just in hiding. Where are you?”

“In our diner. Staff bathroom. They can’t get to me here.”

Sehun laughs, music to Jongin’s ears. “I knew you’d be good at this, I never would’ve thought of that place. Are they surveilling you?”

Jongin tells him everything that has gone on in the past forty-eight hours, making sure to keep things short and to-the-point in order to save time. 

“Will you tell me where you are?”

“I can’t, Jongin, I’m sorry. It’s for your own safety. You understand, right?”

Jongin closes the toilet lid and sits down. “Yeah,” he sighs. “I understand.”

When Sehun speaks, there’s an edge of uncertainty to his voice. “Are you angry with me? I know I kept a huge secret from you even though I vowed not to, and I really am sorry.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Of course, every day. Never a day goes by without me wanting to come clean.”

“Then I’m not angry. I didn’t fall in love with your career, after all, I fell in love with you. And you’re still the same man.”

“I love you.”

There’s joy to be found even in the bleakest of situations, Jongin supposes. 

“I love you too.” He picks at the hole in the knee of his jeans, phone kept flush against his ear. “What are you gonna do now?”

“I’m gonna try and find the mole before he or she exposes my identity. I’m close, I can feel it.”

“Can I help?”

“Absolutely not.” At that, Jongin rolls his eyes to the ceiling. “You’re not going to get involved, okay? These are very dangerous people, you cannot make yourself a target. The cartel will do anything to protect themselves; killing you will be child’s play. Promise me you won’t get involved, Jongin. Swear it.”

“Okay, I promise. I swear.”

Sehun can’t get mad if he breaks one promise, not when he was the one who kept such a massive secret from him for years. This isn’t very mature of him, and Jongin is well aware, but asking him to sit back and do nothing is just absurd. He might not be trained as an agent or whatever, but he’s smart and very good at thinking on his feet. 

Oh, and not to mention the fact that he’s a decent shot – Sehun had brought him to a gun range a while ago under the guise of wanting to learn himself. He couldn’t beat Sehun’s scores, of course, but he’d managed to keep all his shots within the target frame. That’s all that really matters, right? 

“You should head back,” Sehun says, sounding reluctant to let him go. “I’ve kept you long enough. Don’t call me; I’ll find ways to contact you so that you know I’m doing okay. Love you, please stay safe.”

Jongin doesn’t even get to say _I love you_ _too_ before Sehun ends the call. 

Thumbs pressed against the inner corners of his eyes, Jongin stays hunched over his knees for a few long minutes before he exhales and gets to his feet. The phone returns to his pocket and he flushes twice for good measure before washing his hands. He pauses at the door, eye on the air freshener. One spritz, just in case. 

When he returns the key to Emy, he makes sure to tell her just how much better he feels. 

“Good, now you can enjoy your food. I’ll have Sehun’s shepherd’s pie ready to go by the time you’re done.” She leaves to attend to another customer with a pat to his cheek and Jongin picks up his fork. 

His meal – lasagna made from scratch, even the pasta itself – is waiting for him, still piping hot and smelling amazing. Now that he’s spoken to Sehun and heard his voice, he feels somewhat less high-strung. This meal is much-needed, he tells himself, especially since he won’t be able to come back any time soon. The Bureau will most definitely put this place under surveillance after today. 

So he tucks in, and for a brief time, his mind is blessedly free of all thoughts except for how good his food tastes. 

  
Jongin spends the entirety of the next two days holed up at home. He goes over every inch of his house, blinds pulled shut and lights switched off, hunting for hidden cameras with the help of a phone app and the front-facing camera. Occasionally, he blasts some music just to (hopefully) give anyone listening in a shock. He pours over the documents that Sehun had left in the safe – although he makes no sense of it, unsurprisingly – and practices reloading the handgun dozens of times until it starts to set into muscle memory.   
  
He tries to think of what he can do to help, but nothing seems to be good enough. 

The shepherd’s pie he’d ordered under Sehun’s name becomes his own lunch.

He checks the street every few hours and notes that there are two different cars taking turns surveilling him over three shifts. When one leaves, the other arrives after a few minutes, and it’s during one of these brief periods of freedom that Jongin finds himself startled by a knock on the door. 

“Who is it?”

“Delivery for Kim Kai.”

Jongin scrambles out of his seat. _Kim Kai_ is a nickname given to him by Sehun a few months into dating, and they’ve never used it around anyone else. Gun tucked into the back of his waistband, Jongin rushes over the door and opens it. 

“Can’t answer any questions,” the courier (?) says as soon as Jongin opens his mouth. “The replacement team will be arriving in less than two minutes and it’s best if I’m not spotted in the area.” He passes over an envelope and a clipboard, gesturing for Jongin to sign at the bottom. “Read that. I’ll see you soon.”

With a curt nod, the man turns heel and leaves, the rumble of the mail truck’s engine fading away as it heads down the street.

Jongin goes back inside the house and watches through a slit in the curtains as a car from the Bureau pulls up barely thirty seconds after. Back against the door, he tears open the envelope and pulls out a singular sheet of paper. He instantly recognises the handwriting as Sehun’s.

_Meet Yixing, the man who passed you this envelope in the bookstore, our usual section._   
_Tomorrow, 3 p.m. You can trust him, he is one of the few people I trust with my life._

_I figured it out, Jongin. Who the mole is. There’s more than one, actually, it’s a whole group of them. I’m going to be sending an encrypted file to the Bureau and several news agencies tomorrow to reveal their identities, but once I expose who it is, that’ll mean bounties on our heads. So we have to run._

_I’m sorry I dragged you into this. I understand if you’re upset, because this may mean uprooting our lives. But right now, I just want to keep you safe._

_Don’t bring anything except for the absolute minimum. Don’t bother with credit cards, they can track it. Leave your phone, take only the one you found from the safe. Don’t drive here either, take the bus or a cab._

_So sorry, love. I’ll make it up to you, I swear._

_Burn this after you read it, okay? And do not tell anyone that you’re leaving._

Jongin runs the tip of his tongue along his teeth. Chances are that this new development hasn’t really set in yet, because he’s feeling oddly calm, like he’d just received a grocery list from Sehun instead of a note telling him he’s about to have his entire life turned upside down. 

He heads into the bathroom with a box of matches and folds the paper in half before dropping it into the sink. Fingers trembling for some unknown reason, it takes Jongin several tries to strike a match, breaking a couple along the way before he manages to hold the small flame to the edge of the paper. 

Fire trickles down the paper in curls, orange fading to ash before the flames flicker out and Jongin washes the remnants down the drain. 

  
The first thing Jongin does when he wakes up the following day is to pack a bag. He follows Sehun’s instructions, packing only the necessities – cash that they keep in their (regular) safe, a couple changes of clothes, Sehun’s fake passports… As soon as his ‘handlers’ spot him leaving the house with a backpack, they’ll be hot on his heels like a hound after food. 

With a breakfast smoothie in hand, Jongin goes around the house unplugging appliances. Hey, if they make it back alive, he’s sure as hell not going to pay the bills for electricity they’re not using. 

Their house plants might wither, though.

Then he showers, after which he spends an inordinate amount of time in front of the foggy mirror running a straight razor (a birthday gift from his sister) along his jaw. Hands resting along the edge of the sink, Jongin stares at himself through the mirror and feels as drops of water roll sluggishly down his back. 

He finishes the rest of their fresh produce by slapping together a haphazard salad, then chugs the remaining third left in their carton of milk. A glance at the clock tells him that it’s a quarter to two in the afternoon, about when he should be leaving the house. 

On a wall by the front door is a photograph of them on their wedding day, confetti settled in their hair and dress shirts unbuttoned at the collar, complete with matching rings and smiles. Jongin pauses by the photo, mind easily transported back to that very day where he’d never felt happier, where their future seemed so, so bright. Seems like a lifetime ago, now.

He turns away from the photo to put on his shoes, then walks right out of the house. 

After a brief pit stop at his car to grab the other handgun, Jongin shoulders his backpack, slides on his sunglasses, and walks a block down the street to the nearest bus stop. It isn’t long before his bus turns up, and the last thing Jongin glimpses before he boards the bus is the agent behind the wheel of the black sedan getting ready to follow. 

If he ever gets the chance, he’s gonna give Kim Junmyeon some feedback about how his agents need more training on how to stay under the radar. 

Jongin settles in for the short journey and stares out the window at life passing by, at lines and colours that bleed into each other as the bus trundles on. Twelve stops later and he steps off the bus, thanking the bus driver along the way. 

This particular bookstore is a well-known establishment in their city, thanks to its long history and historic architecture. The shop carries everything from autobiographies to obscure manga, from cookbooks to books on existentialism, and it's the only place that carries the one author Sehun loves so much. 

They’d drop by the store every couple of months just to see if anything interesting is in stock, and more often than not, they’ll end up spending hours roaming the aisles. 

Jongin smiles at the cashier when he enters and heads up to the second floor, making a beeline for the Japanese crime section. The second he steps into the aisle, he’s yanked right out of it by a man dressed in a hoodie boasting the name of a local arts college. 

“I’m Yixing.” Jongin’s instinctive urge to shriek is immediately dampened by the fact that yes, this man looks exactly like the one who delivered the letter yesterday. “Put this on and walk right next to me. We should pass off as college friends.”

He’s handed a matching hoodie in a different colour and Jongin pulls it on over his head.

“There are at least two agents on our tails, but if we move fast enough, we’ll be able to get to the car without them spotting us. Here, give me your bag and put this on too.”

The backpack trades hands and Jongin is following Yixing out of the shop with a snapback perched on his head. He wears it normally, not pulling it down over his eyes as to draw less attention to himself. 

“Where’s he?”

“Doing us a favour,” comes the answer, and when he turns to look at Yixing, Jongin notices a small earpiece sitting snug in his ear. “He’s watching us through the street cams and telling – look here and keep your head angled.”

Jongin immediately glances down at the phone that Yixing’s holding up – there’s a random Wikipedia page pulled up on the screen, and Yixing suddenly starts talking about various acids like he’s a world-renowned chemist. This goes on for a few more seconds, then Yixing drops the act and turns a corner. 

“Is that the car that followed you?”

Following Yixing’s line of sight, Jongin sees the black sedan across the street. “Yeah.”

“How many people were in the car?”

“Just one, from what I could see.”

Yixing nods and takes another corner, leaving the sedan behind them. “We’re – ah, fuck. Pick up your pace a little, but don’t make it seem like you’re hurrying to get somewhere.”

“What? Why?”

“There’s an agent half a block behind us; doesn’t seem like he’s spotted us, but he’s looking. You see that off-white car there? By the lights? That’s our ride.”

Heart in his throat, Jongin keeps his eyes on the car as they make their way over. it’s barely a minute’s walk, but it feels like a lifetime, and he’s sweating by the time he gets a hand around the door handle.

He practically falls into the backseat and is immediately pulled into a hug. 

Jongin holds Sehun close, nose tucked into the curve of his husband’s neck as he breathes in the familiar scent of the man he loves. Maybe he’s gripping Sehun a little too tightly, maybe his nails are digging into Sehun’s flesh, but Sehun isn’t complaining and he isn’t about to let go. 

In the driver’s seat, Yixing starts the car and pulls out into traffic, right under the nose of the Bureau.

“You okay?”

Jongin pulls back and pushes Sehun’s hair out of his eyes. “I’m fine, are _you_ okay?” He ignores Sehun’s subsequent answer and proceeds to check him all over, like he expects to find Sehun littered with wounds. He does find a (days old) bruise on Sehun’s forearm, but nothing else. 

Fingers find their way between his own and Jongin takes a breath – he’s got Sehun back with him, alive and in one piece, and that’s really all that matters right now. 

“Seventeen minutes,” Yixing says, an elbow propped up on the window ledge. “We should make it.”

“What’s in seventeen minutes?”

Sehun rolls his neck, grimacing at the ache. “The file will be sent out in seventeen minutes. We want to be off the streets by then – you never know how many people the cartel has on the streets, and we cannot risk getting spotted once they put out a bounty on us.”

They enter a neighbourhood that Jongin has never stepped foot into before, driving past neat rows of near identical houses before turning into a driveway. The garage gate opens and Yixing eases the car inside. 

When the gate closes and the garage is plunged into darkness, Sehun opens his car door, triggering the car lights which barely manage to illuminate the space. As Sehun steps out of the car, Jongin takes the chance to study his husband. Sehun, if you know him well, carries his emotions in his frame. Stress always settles in the space between his scapulas and in his lower back, anger in his shoulders and the line of his jaw. 

Sure enough, there’s a stiffness in the way Sehun stands and moves around the door, almost as if he’s ready to fight at the slightest provocation. Jongin wonders just how much sleep Sehun has managed to grab since this whole shitstorm started. 

He gets out of the car, bag in hand, and follows the pair towards the door that leads to the rest of the house. Inside, the house looks weirdly normal – a pair of shoes strewn by the main door, a pile of mail left unread, and an open bag of Doritos sitting on the coffee table. The only sign that this place isn’t as it seems is the complete lack of photographs. Oh, and all the security cameras installed. 

There’s a large table used to hold all their tech, of which Jongin only recognises the laptops and headphones. Yixing takes a seat in front of one laptop, and after a few keystrokes, beckons Sehun over. 

“You wanna set your stuff down in the room? It’s the one on the end of the hallway upstairs.”

“I’d rather stay with you, honestly.”

Sehun smiles at him, a soft curve of his lips that looks so much like the one he’d received when he first told Sehun he loved him all those years ago. Sunlight enters the room in such a way that it highlights the shadows under Sehun’s eyes but also brings out the flecks of amber in his irises. 

Jongin leans in and kisses him, once on the mouth and once on the cheek. 

“Go,” he says, tilting his chin in Yixing’s direction. “We’ll talk later. I’m gonna grab a glass of water.”


	2. Chapter 2

During dinner, Jongin finds out that Yixing is – no, _was_ – an agent working for China, and it’s in the city of Shanghai that the two had met for the first time. It was a couple of years before their marriage, and Jongin remembers being told that Sehun would be going to China to handle an important client. Of course, the ‘important client’ turned out to be a case that he was working on that required the aid of the Chinese.

Sehun and Yixing became fast friends, bonding over shared experiences in their line of work and compatible temperaments. When Yixing uncovered corruption in his department, he’d shared the news with Sehun and informed him that he would be resigning, no longer desiring a career with people he cannot trust. But as a man with his skill set and connections, it’s fair to say that completely leaving his line of work would be near impossible. 

Which is how Yixing found himself working as an independent agent, willing to work for any agency or entity as long as the case at hand was morally clear. When Sehun was assigned to the Zeta Cartel case, Yixing just so happened to move into the country, and they’d reunited. As someone with no personal ties nor loyalty to the Bureau, Yixing was the only one Sehun could trust, and Jongin learns that it is only thanks to Yixing’s help that Sehun was able to find out who the mole is in such a short period of time. 

“Were you the one who called me?”

Yixing carefully selects a piece of beef and shakes his head. “No, that was an actual stranger that Sehun asked to contact you.”

“He wasn’t very pleased when I told him,” Sehun laughs, knee warm against Jongin’s under the table. “Says I should’ve waited an hour to get him to do it. But hey, I needed to get word to you that I was safe.”

Jongin swallows his mouthful of food. “Thank you,” he says to Yixing, “for being there for him when I couldn’t.”

“Hey, he’d do the same if our positions were switched.” Yixing pours out the rest of his beer into the glass and raises it in Sehun’s direction. “Besides, I hate dishonesty, especially from people who are meant to uphold justice and integrity.”

Then he grins, dimples showing. “Let’s not talk about the past now; we have to celebrate the present! We’ve just exposed a whole network of moles in the Bureau and the higher-ups are clearly caught with their pants down.” Jongin glances over at the many screens just visible from this angle, one of which has text flying up the screen – real-time emails from the Bureau’s top-ranking agents in response to Sehun’s files. Another screen shows news outlets reporting on the very same story. “This is monumental, you know. Some civilians might not think so, but it really is.”

The future is unknown – almost terrifyingly so. The Zeta Cartel is bound to issue a response, but there’s no telling what that response will be. 

With that in mind, Jongin looks down at his food and methodically eats a mouthful. 

Later, as he sits on a bed that isn’t his own and rubs a towel through his hair, Jongin wonders if life will ever return to normal, or if this will be the new normal. It’s jarring, how quickly things can change. 

He drapes his towel over the back of a chair and is busy rummaging around in a drawer of shirts when the door opens and Sehun steps in. 

“Hey. Had a nice shower?”

“Yeah; you don’t have to be downstairs?”

Sehun shrugs, leaning against the closed door. “There’s nothing much to do for now except wait, so I thought I’d come see how you were doing.”

He sounds casual, almost nonchalant, but Jongin knows better. 

“You think I’m upset with you.”

There’s a long period of silence whereby they simply look at each other, until Sehun breaks it with a sigh, shoulders slumping. “I wouldn’t blame you if you were.”

Jongin grabs a random shirt and closes the drawer with his hip. “Why don’t you take a shower first; we’ll talk after.”

For a moment, it seems as though Sehun would rather stay, but eventually he nods and exits the room. Jongin pulls on the shirt and lies down to wait. 

After staring at the ceiling for a good ten minutes, the door opens again and Sehun walks in smelling like artificial pine. Jongin’s first instinctive thought is _that is not a good scent_ before his brain adjusts and goes _right, we’re not at home and that is not his usual shower gel_. He sits up and pats the space next to him – Sehun quietly settles down. 

“Do you want to tell me everything now?”

And Sehun does, starting from the very day his twenty-two-year-old self decided to apply for a position in the Bureau in hopes that he would be selected and he could finally quit his boring corporate job. The entire process took a whole year to complete, and it took a couple of internal transfers for Sehun to really find his niche in the organised crime and drug enforcement task force. 

“I never planned to hide my career from you,” Sehun says, absently itching at an old scar on the inside of his thigh. “I know that a career like mine has the ability to break relationships, so of course I wanted you to know before we decided to make things exclusive. But before I could, I was assigned to a classified case. Not the Cartel case, but it was dangerous enough for it to be a reason to keep it from you. Then the job just…kept getting in the way.”

He reaches for Jongin’s hand, almost tentatively, and runs a thumb over the flat surface of his wedding ring. “It took a lot of effort, but I managed to keep my work away from you. I was there for every important date, there to spend time with your family, there to marry you. I couldn’t, however, control how this case turned out. I missed our anniversary and now you’re on the run from a fucking drug cartel.”

Before he can continue on this downward spiral of self-blame, Jongin pinches Sehun’s chin between his thumb and forefinger and guides him close. “Anniversaries inherently have no meaning. It means whatever we attribute to the date – in fact, we can celebrate it now if you so choose. And for the record, I’d rather be running from the cartel with you than never know if you’re alive.” 

Jongin kisses him, slow and deep, and his heart aches just a little at how desperately Sehun clutches at him. 

“Happy Anniversary, you fool. I love you always.”

It takes a bit of uncoordinated maneuvering and a couple of collisions, but eventually, Sehun manages to settle astride Jongin’s lap, fingers threading through damp hair. 

“The thought of you getting hurt because of my job – kidnapped, tortured, even killed – has been a constant nightmare over the last few days. As soon as I close my eyes and start to drift, all I see is you in pain and I am always unable to get to your side fast enough. I’ve been running on a couple of hours of sleep a day because I just don’t want to dream any more.”

The night is still young, but Jongin leans precariously off the side of the bed and switches off the lights. 

“You’ve always slept better with me around,” Jongin laughs, manhandling Sehun under the covers. The mattress is a little lumpy and the duvet isn’t as thick as their own, but all that matters is the warmth from the body next to his. Illumination from the streetlights outside trickles in through a slit between the drapes, lines of silver painted over the sharp planes of Sehun’s profile as they lie facing each other. 

Sehun traces the slope of Jongin’s nose with his finger, then the curve of his cupid’s bow. He smiles when Jongin lands a kiss on that very finger. “Tomorrow’s gonna be a long day.” 

“Tomorrow’s not here yet,” Jongin points out. “We’ll worry about tomorrow when it comes. Let’s just focus on the now.”

They fall silent for a while, Sehun lost in his thoughts while Jongin drinks in every inch of the other’s face. Sweeping lashes and a glimmer of light in his irises – the man never fails to take his breath away. 

“Did you plan anything special for our anniversary?”

Jongin hums, “I was gonna take you to the Peak at night, where we can sit on the hood of our car and stargaze as we share some wine. Nothing fancy, really, just thought we could revisit that place. We haven’t gone back since our engagement.”

Sehun’s bottom lip juts out. “That sounds like a dream.”

“We can still have that when we get out of this fiasco.”

“You have a lot of blind faith.”

“Well, I guess we’ll see in time if it’s blind faith.” Pushing up on his elbows, Jongin rolls atop Sehun and brackets his head between his forearms. “Stop overthinking,” he says, tapping Sehun’s forehead. “And stop frowning, it’ll give you wrinkles.”

“You can just kiss the wrinkles away.”

Well, he’s not wrong. 

  
Jongin wakes up the next day to an empty bed. After a quick morning routine, he heads downstairs to see the two agents already at the table, headphones on and eyes glued to screens. 

“Any developments?”

A few furious clicks and then Yixing’s looking up at him. “Many developments.”

Sehun holds up a mug of what Jongin presumes to be coffee. “Here, have this.” He drags out a chair and sets it down next to him. Jongin takes the seat and the coffee.

There’s a whole bunch of information pulled up on the screens, and for a second, Jongin is completely at a loss for which screen to focus on.

“See this?” Sehun says helpfully, pointing at one. “Internal documents. Junmyeon’s issued arrest warrants for all the agents we exposed as moles. Immigration and customs have been notified, as well as police departments across the country. It’s a manhunt now, a race against time. Either we get to them first and crack one of the moles for information, or they get to me.”

“Why would they want to kill you? You’ve already sent out the information, it’s not like they can take it all back if they kill you.”

Sehun looks at him with a sad tilt of his lips. “Ah, but this isn’t the information they want to keep secret. I have gathered a lot of intel over the years about the cartel and their activities; I have nearly enough to take down their domestic territory. In fact, by exposing the moles’ identities, I have effectively announced to the cartel that I am an agent investigating them. Before I sent out this dossier, the mole tracking me had not yet disclosed my identity, and the cartel had no solid proof that I existed.”

“He took a risk,” Yixing adds, mouth full with a bite of eggs. “But if he didn’t, he wouldn’t have the Bureau backing him up.” 

Nodding, Sehun turns his attention back to the screen. “The cartel was bound to find out who I am sooner or later. This way, it’s sooner, but it guarantees the Bureau’s interference.” 

Jongin stares at the screens. “How are you able to access the Bureau’s internal system?”

A pause, then Yixing snickers. “I’m a decently good hacker if I can say so myself.”

Jongin feels his eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. “You _hacked_ the Bureau?!” He looks from Yixing’s face to Sehun’s to the screen. “Wow. Okay. Well, I’m gonna go make some... pancakes or whatever.”

He stands and is just about to make his way into the kitchen when he sees a stack of papers sitting behind all the monitors. Upon closer inspection, he realises that it’s a copy of the documents that Sehun had sent over to the Bureau; profiles of the moles. He takes the papers with him. 

The days pass by quietly like this, with Sehun and Yixing sitting at the desk and Jongin poking around the house like he’s on the hunt for some treasure. He cooks a lot, which means that Yixing has to make grocery runs on the regular, but no one’s complaining about getting home-cooked meals. 

In one of the spare bedrooms, Jongin finds a cupboard of weapons, neatly organised by type and size. He drinks in the amount of ammo stored in the bottom shelf and slowly closes the doors. A trip to the basement unearths an old punching bag and gloves, and one afternoon Jongin decides to get back to a hobby he had in university – kickboxing. 

It’s there that Sehun finds him on a Wednesday afternoon, leaning against the wall as Jongin lands blow after blow on the bag. 

“You just gonna stand there and watch?” Sweat rolls down his back and over the knobs of his spine. 

“Just enjoying the view,” Sehun says. “You must’ve had everyone falling left and right for you in uni, huh?”

One more punch and Jongin drops his arms. “Mm, maybe, but it doesn’t matter because none of them were you.” He rips the gloves off and lets them fall to the floor. “What’s up?”

Sehun, bottom lip drawn between his teeth, watches as Jongin takes a long drink of water before he says, “I’m going to the Bureau.”

“You’re going – what?”

“Junmyeon found a way to reach out to me; they’ve managed to track down and arrest one of the moles and they want me there to interrogate him. ”

Blood pumping, Jongin takes a step closer to Sehun. “I’m coming with you.”

An incredulous laugh tumbles out of Sehun’s mouth. “Absolutely not!”

“Not up for negotiation,” Jongin says firmly. “I’m going to shower, then we’ll go. If I come out of the shower and you’re not here, you and I? We’re gonna have a problem.”

He fixes Sehun with a warning look – his husband looks constipated – and takes the stairs two at a time. 

  
An arm smacks him across the chest. “You cannot go in. You’re not cleared.”

Jongin raises an eyebrow and looks down at the young agent who’d taken it upon himself to be a human barricade. He shifts his gaze over to Kim Junmyeon. “Then give me clearance.”

“You’re a civilian –”

“It’s alright, Agent. Let him in, I’ll handle it.”

The door shuts behind them, effectively blocking out any outside sounds. Apart from him and Junmyeon, the only other person in the room is the agent in charge of the equipment. Through the two-way mirror, Jongin sees Sehun with whom he has learned is his partner in the field, an agent by the name of Karine Wong. She’s a spitfire, Jongin can tell. He wonders if she’s upset that Sehun wasn’t able to confide in her – partners are supposed to trust each other with their lives, right?

Dressed in a tee and fitted jeans, Sehun looks oddly out of place seated next to Karin, who’s in pressed suit pants and a silk blouse. He sits quietly, eyes fixed on the person across the table as his partner drops a stack of folders down onto the table’s surface.

“Didn’t think you’d be one of them,” Karine says dryly, leaning forward onto her elbows. “I guess they pay better, huh?”

Her words don’t elicit a response, but it doesn’t seem like either agent expected there to be one. Karine flips open the first folder, turns it around, and pushes it over to the mole. 

“A list of the charges we are prepared to file against you. Unless you tell us everything we want to know, in which case I’m sure we can work something out.”

Surprisingly, the mole doesn’t lawyer up. He talks, albeit reluctantly at first, and the interrogation continues for over an hour. Jongin stands right by the window observing for the entirety of it, Junmyeon next to him. 

“I’ve been meaning to tell you,” Jongin says abruptly, gaze still fixed on Sehun, “that whoever is in charge of the surveillance training program or whatever, needs to do a better job. Your guys were way too obvious.”

Junmyeon huffs out a laugh. “I’ll take your feedback into consideration.” After a beat, he adds, “I’m sorry I made Sehun hide all of this from you. It is, unfortunately, a part of our job.”

Jongin lifts a shoulder. “I know. It’s alright.”

“If it’s any consolation, he was thinking of transferring out of the department, to one where he wouldn’t be working on classified cases so he could openly talk to you about his job.”

In the other room, Sehun’s busy jotting down notes onto a notepad, brow furrowed in concentration as he writes. Jongin smiles at the sight.

“He shouldn’t have to. While I’m not exactly pleased with the entire situation, I understand why he did what he did. If I was in his position,” Jongin pauses to take a breath, “I think I would’ve done the same. It’s his duty as a federal agent to protect classified information, and I know he thinks it’s his duty as my husband to keep me safe.”

“Ah, he married a good man,” Junmyeon says. “He talks about you a lot, you know? Karine tells him to shut up more often than not, but I think she’ll love to meet you.”

The interrogation ends with all three looking rather drained. Sehun speaks for the first time in a while, pen spinning between his fingers as he drags his free hand through unstyled hair. “You know, I had a list of people that I suspected from the very beginning, but your name was never on it.” He stands, turning to take the folders out of Karine’s arms. “Guess it goes to show how well some people can act.”

He leaves the interrogation room and Karine waits until the door shuts before she begins to read him his rights. 

  
Jongin jerks awake, neck stiff and back practically screaming in discomfort. He’d fallen asleep at a desk – a quick glance at the wall clock across the bullpen tells him that it’s nearly three in the morning. He stands with a wince, the pops of his vertebrae audible in the quietness. Apart from a handful of agents scattered around the large space, there’s no one else around. 

Sehun and his team are still holed up in the conference room; Jongin can make out moving silhouettes against the frosted glass. He exhales, trying his best to blink away the sleep still clinging to his eyes. There’s a pantry around the corner, perhaps they’ll have some coffee. 

He walks over, taking the time to loosen the tense muscles in his hips and shoulders. Blessedly, there is coffee (instant, but better than none), and Jongin busies himself with preparing a cup. He’s busy stirring when his phone buzzes. 

_how’s it going over there_

Jongin blinks. _How do u know im awake?_

_i’m a hacker, remember? i hacked a couple cameras. i’m literally watching you right now._

_Dude, that’s illegal in so many ways. and so creepy, holy shit_

Jongin looks up at one of the security cameras and pulls a face.

_oh whatever. c’mon tell me_

So Jongin takes a seat at one of the tables and tells Yixing everything he knows, which isn’t much, considering how long he’s been at the Bureau. 

_they’re gonna mount an operation,_ Yixing replies. i _f they’ve been in that room for hours, they’re planning something. they must have gotten plenty of intel from the mole that they have verified and can work with._

_Why don’t you just go spy on them_

_not all cameras are connected to the same network. i only hacked into one, too lazy to hack into the others._

Jongin rolls his eyes and gulps down the rest of the coffee. Ugh, now he wants some mouthwash. 

Turns out, the coffee failed to do much, because he fell asleep right there in the pantry, empty mug sitting precariously close to the edge of the table. It’s Karine who wakes him up with a gentle shake of the shoulders. 

The sun is high in the sky when Jongin cracks an eye open. He feels disgustingly sluggish and twice his age. It’s been far too long since he’s had such a horrible sleep schedule – his university self would be ashamed at how poorly he’s handling it.

“Hey, sorry we took so long. Sehun’s finishing up, he should be out in ten or twenty minutes. Didn’t want to wake you, but people are coming into work and I had a feeling you wouldn’t want to be stared at. Or worse, have security called on you.”

“Yeah, no, that’s definitely not something I want,” Jongin yawns, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. “Thanks.”

He hears the faint clink of metal against porcelain, and sure enough, he gets a whiff of the aroma of coffee seconds after. 

“Coffee?”

Jongin shakes his head. “You guys need a bigger budget for your coffee. Get something stronger.”

She laughs, leaning against the counter as she takes a sip from her mug. “Tell me about it.” There are shadows under her eyes and her shirt has wrinkled, but she still looks decently alert and put-together. Their gazes meet and Karine lowers her mug. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you that it feels as though I’ve known you for years.”

“Wish I could say the same about you.” Jongin brings his mug over to the sink and washes out the remnants of coffee. Once clean, he fills it with water.

Karine grimaces. “Yeah, I’m sorry we had to meet under these circumstances.”

Although he appreciates what she’s trying to say, Jongin’s far too exhausted for this conversation. “Not anyone’s fault. Is there anywhere I could possibly take a quick shower?”

Half an hour later, Jongin steps out of the shower and pulls on a sweater with the Bureau’s seal plastered right on the middle. He’d taken a cold one, needing the shock of icy water to really pull him out of his lethargy, but now he’s feeling a little too chilly. Jongin stares at his reflection in the mirror, noting how the dull grey of the sweater washes him out. Well, at least the sweatpants are super comfortable.

As soon as he steps out of the bathroom, he walks right into Sehun.

“Oh,” he utters, nearly dropping his day-old clothes. “Hi. Were you waiting for me?”

“Yeah, but I haven’t been waiting long.” Sehun looks ready to climb into bed and sleep for twenty hours, and Jongin wishes that was possible. “Sorry you had to spend the night here; I didn’t expect for things to go for quite so many hours. You wanna head back? I can get an agent to send you home.”

“Home? You’re not coming?

“I can’t, I have to stay for a while longer, I’ve got a lot of things to settle here.”

Jongin takes one look at Sehun’s face and drops his pile of clothes. “Come here,” he sighs, and pulls Sehun close. Sehun’s just a little taller and his shoulders are just a little wider, but Sehun has always found a way to fit into Jongin’s hold. Even now, as they’re standing in the middle of a hallway and passing agents try not to make it obvious that they’re staring, Sehun tucks himself into the dips and curves of Jongin’s body and takes a moment for himself.

“Please don’t push yourself too hard.”

“Can’t help it,” Sehun mumbles, lips pressed against the slope of Jongin’s shoulder. Jongin wishes he could feel the touch against his skin instead, but alas, that damned sweater is in the way. 

Burying his sigh into Sehun’s hair, Jongin holds him for a while longer, until Karine comes around the corner and clears her throat. 

“Hey, sorry to interrupt, but we’ve got a tip from local police the county over. They arrested one of the moles and he’s arriving at the compound in a few minutes. You wanna join in on the interrogation?”

Sehun pulls back, one hand finding its way into Jongin’s. 

“Yeah, be right there, let me just find Hansol.”

“I think he’s caught up dealing with the rookies,” she supplies. 

“Okay. See you in the interrogation room.”

Jongin gathers his clothes and lets Sehun pull him down the hallway. 

“Hansol’s a good agent,” he says, “he’ll drive you home. I’ve gotten a team to clear out our house, check for bugs and whatnot, so you can go back now. There’ll be two units stationed right outside 24/7, and you can ask the agents for anything if you need.”

“Wait, what about Yixing?”

Sehun waves at a group of agents at the far end of the room and one stands up immediately. 

“They can’t know about him. He’s breaking so many laws by helping me; even under these circumstances, he’d probably be prosecuted if the Bureau learned just how much he’s done and is capable of.” 

An agent that Jongin guesses is Hansol walks up to them and gives Sehun a little bow. Jongin’s eyebrows skyrocket to his hairline. Wait, what rank is –

“Ah, Hansol. You mind sending my husband back?”

“No problem, sir.”

Sehun gives Jongin’s hand a squeeze. “Go home and rest. I’ll call in a few hours, okay?”

With that, Sehun turns and walks away, turning to look over his shoulder when he’s just about to disappear from view. Jongin exhales and turns to the young agent. “Alright then, let’s go.”

  
Jongin arrives home with his head swimming. The car ride lasted for just a little over twenty minutes, and he’d spent that entire duration digesting a whole bunch of first-hand information straight from Hansol’s mouth. Jongin learns that Sehun, although having worked at the Bureau for a shorter period of time than other agents his rank, has made quite a name for himself. 

“SSA Oh is honestly one of the best agents I’ve ever had the chance to work with. He’s very shrewd, always able to think outside of the box and put himself in the perp’s shoes. More often than not, his hunches tend to be correct, and he’s closed so many cases with just his brainpower alone.” Hansol had spoken so animatedly that Jongin nearly classified the young man as a _fan_ of his husband. “He treats his team members really well, too. I’m quite new, but he’s given me the chance to do things that many others wouldn’t have been able to do if they’d been working with anyone else. Man, he’s just really cool.”

When the car pulls up to the house, Jongin sees the security detail already stationed outside. This time, they don’t try whatsoever to be inconspicuous – the Glocks strapped to the agents’ hips certainly do not scream _civilian_. 

“Thank you for the ride,” Jongin says, a hand on the door handle. “Before I go, can I ask if you’ll be working with Sehun on this case?”

“The Zeta Cartel case? I’m not officially on the team, but I’ve been told I may be asked to assist.” 

Jongin looks out the window at his home. “If you do, please look out for him.”

He can feel Hansol’s eyes on him through the rearview mirror. “Yeah, of course. I’ll do my best, sir.”

“Thank you,” Jongin repeats. He eases the door open and gets out of the car, turning to wave at the young agent. As he walks up to his driveway, he sees his neighbour – a cranky old man who loves to bitch about the birds – staring right at him. Jongin continues walking straight, until his key slides into the lock and the door swings open.

Inside, the house looks exactly like he’d left it, although he knows that people have been inside to do a thorough sweep. There’s a thin film of dust over the surfaces that he’ll have to deal with at some point, but Jongin makes a beeline for his bedroom, where he strips the bed of its sheets and falls face first onto the pillow. 

He falls asleep in seconds, and it’s dusk when he wakes up, feeling like there’s cotton in his mouth. 

After a trip to the bathroom for some mouthwash and a piss, Jongin bundles up the bedsheets and heads downstairs, where he stuffs them into the washing machine. He checks his phone – nothing from Sehun, so he texts Yixing instead. Moments later, he’s informed that Sehun is still in the office, now in one of the tech’s offices instead of the meeting room. 

Jongin scrubs at his face. While he waits, he might as well clean. 

By the time Sehun calls, the floor is squeaky clean and the surfaces are all wiped clean of dust.

“Hey, everything okay at home?”

“All things considered,” Jongin replies, looking out the window at the cars parked outside, “yeah. Are you coming back?”

“I can’t leave the Bureau. It’s safer if I stay here.”

Jongin isn’t sure what he’d expected. A minute or so later, they hang up, and Jongin opens the fridge door to an empty fridge. How long has it been since he was last here? Half a month? Maybe more? Time seems to be passing by like quicksand, sluggishly quick. 

He finds a can of soup in the cupboards and some saltines; that’ll do for dinner, he supposes. 

  
Sehun calls once a day for the next week (maybe two, Jongin’s starting to lose track of time), until one day, he doesn’t. If it wasn’t for the fact that he was out for a run, Jongin would’ve probably noticed much sooner. But as it stands, he’s nearing the end of his five-mile run when his phone vibrates with a text. 

_heads up, there’s gonna be a raid_

Blood rushes to his head so quickly when he skids to a stop that Jongin nearly whites out. Behind him, the sedan tailing him slams on the brakes, tyres squealing against the asphalt. 

_What do you mean a raid?_

_they’ve arrested 2 more and both have been talking, thanks to the plea deals being dangled in front of them. from what i can tell, the intel so far is solid and they’ve been organising an operation to intercept an incoming shipment._

_When?_

_the shipment is due to arrive in 6 hours, down by the shipping docks. odds are, they’re already at the site._

Jongin immediately dials the number that Sehun has been using to contact him, only for the call to not go through. Fuck, Sehun’s actually there, isn’t he? 

_I cant contact him, can you?_

_no, but i’m working on hacking into the security cams there. i’ll get back to you._

Looking up from his phone, Jongin strides right towards the car. The agents inside seem a little unnerved at his approach, scrambling to wind the window down when Jongin raps on the glass. 

“Two things,” he begins, holding up two fingers. “One, I’d appreciate it if you could give me a ride home. Two, I’d _very_ much appreciate it if you could contact my husband, or someone on his team.”

The two agents nod in unison and Jongin gets into the back seat. 

He gets home with no issue whatsoever, but even the agents are unable to reach Sehun and his team. As much as he would like to have someone to take his frustrations out on, Jongin can’t blame them for not trying, because he’s watched them call number after number throughout the entire drive back to the house. 

So all he can do now is wait for a message from Yixing. He takes a shower just so he has something to do other than pacing circles in his living room, phone perched on a shelf in the shower so it’ll be within reach should Yixing contact him. But the screen never lights up.

An hour ticks by, then two, then four. 

Then, just as the hour hand on the clock hits one, Yixing calls.

“I’m coming to pick you up,” is the first thing Jongin hears when he answers. “Ten minutes. Be ready.”

Then he hangs up, leaving Jongin clutching at his phone, expecting the worst. 

The ten minutes seem to pass infinitely slower than the last few hours have. Jongin retrieves a gun and slips it into the waistband of his jeans, the extra magazines slotted into an old pair of combat boots he’d found while ransacking the house a few weeks earlier. Just the thought of arming himself is surreal and terrifying, because having a gun means having the option to use it. And before today, using a gun outside of a shooting range would never be an option. 

All of a sudden, lights cut through the darkness and beam through the windows. Jongin walks right out of the house, down the walkway and past the two agents who have their weapons drawn.

“He’s coming with me,” Yixing says, head sticking out of the window and looking terribly unbothered by the fact that there are two guns trained on him. “And you two should, as well.”

Jongin gets into the car and buckles in. As Yixing pulls away from the curb, Jongin sees the agents scramble into their own vehicle and hears the engine rumbling to life.

“Something’s happened, hasn’t it?”

Their eyes meet in the rearview mirror. “It’s an ambush,” Yixing says, knowing sugarcoating anything would just be detrimental. “He’s gonna kill me for bringing you, but I know you’d kill me for _not_ bringing you, so…”

Jongin snorts, feeling a little hysterical. “You said the intel checked out.”

“It did.” Yixing twists the wheel and the car screeches around a corner. “The shipments are coming at the right time and place, but the cartel has turned it into an ambush. Last-minute changes to the schedule would definitely get noticed by the Bureau.”

“What’s gonna happen when we get there?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. I don’t know what we’ll be arriving to.”

He runs a red light, and through the side mirror, Jongin sees the car behind them do the same. When Yixing makes another turn, that’s when Jongin hears it – a muted thunk in the backseat. Looking back, Jongin sees a duffel bag sliding across the seats. 

“Is that –”

“Firepower,” Yixing replies. “Not gonna lie, Jongin, there’s the –”

Jongin pulls out his own gun and checks to make sure it’s loaded. “Yeah, I know.”

The corner of Yixing’s mouth twitches. “Right. Well, glad we’re on the same page.”

  
Their arrival is welcomed with four very loud gunshots.

Yixing parks haphazardly in an alley and is out of the car in a blink, reaching into the backseat for the bag. “Take this,” he says, tossing Jongin a rifle. “You know how to use it?”

“Yeah, used it once or twice.”

“Good. Keep that strapped to you at all times – even if you run out of ammo, the butt makes a great weapon. Take this too, for your handgun. A silencer, so you don’t have to worry about drawing attention to yourself should you need to shoot.”

The agents peel into the space behind them. 

“You hear those shots?” Yixing asks, to which the agents nod. “That’s the cartel against your men. I suggest you go and provide some assistance.” They leave, and Yixing turns to Jongin. “You stay with me at all times, alright? If anything happens to you, I’m dead meat, and I’d really like to stay alive.”

They set off towards the docks, avoiding the puddles of light from the streetlamps in favour of the safety of the shadows. Yixing moves like a panther, sleek and deadly, reflexes so honed that even the movement of a raccoon down the street catches his attention. If Sehun didn’t trust him, Jongin would never want to be near this man. 

When the gunfire starts up again, Jongin feels his stomach drop to his feet. 

“With me,” Yixing repeats, adjusting his grip on his rifle. “Don’t shoot the wrong people, yeah? If you’re unsure, shoot them in the thigh and kick their weapons away.” Jongin’s palms are sweaty around the handgrip of his own, but he flicks the safety off and follows, keeping pace. 

The docks are huge, reaching as far as the human eye can see. With shipping containers as cover, Yixing continues moving forward, seemingly aware of where he should be headed towards. In the near distance, shots echo into the night. 

“We have to stay hidden from everyone,” Yixing says, “even the Bureau’s agents. They don’t recognise me, and odds are they won’t recognise you either, under these circumstances. If they see us, there’s a high chance they’ll shoot at us. And they’ll shoot to kill.”

Jongin listens in silence, not trusting his own voice. 

Seems like a lucid dream, all of this. From the crunch of scattered gravel beneath his feet to the ringing loudness of his own breathing, Jongin feels as though he could wake up from this in a heartbeat. 

Then Yixing raises his weapon and fires twice. Jongin hears a body crumple.

“Pick that up,” Yixing says, nodding at the weapon lying by someone’s feet. Moonlight reflects off a growing puddle of blood, the liquid black in the night. Oh god, this guy’s dead. 

Jongin swallows the bile that rises up in his throat and picks up the gun. When they pass an opened container, he sets the gun down inside. 

Within the next god-knows-how-many minutes, Yixing kills another three. Jongin hates the fact that he’s keeping count. They pass a fallen agent, body riddled with bullets and opened eyes lifeless. Yixing crouches down by his body and pats around.

“We’ve got comms,” he whispers, tucking the earpiece into his ears. “This is good. Come on.”

Jongin takes a second to close the agent’s eyes before he follows.

His hands stay untainted for a while, until they pass another cluster of containers and something in the corner of his eyes moves. On pure instinct, Jongin pulls the trigger, then his entire body shuts down. 

He’d just taken someone’s life with a bullet right into the chest, something he can’t undo nor rectify. He’s a _killer_ – that fact has his blood curdling and sweat beads on his forehead, despite the coolness of night. 

“– at me. Hey!” Jongin jerks, stunned by the stinging on his cheek. Yixing’s face is there, mere inches away from his own. “Hey, look at me. That guy’s a bad one, okay? You saved our asses with that shot. I know it’s not easy, but don’t freak out on me now.”

“I just –”

“There’s a difference between a cold-blooded murderer and someone who killed to protect himself, alright?” Yixing jabs at a spot over Jongin’s heart. It hurts, just a little. “Nothing in here has changed.”

Another flurry of shots ring out, and these sound an awful lot closer. 

“We gotta keep moving, alright?”

Jongin swallows. “Yeah, okay.” 

  
That’s Sehun. He’s dozens of feet away and crouched down, but Jongin knows that’s Sehun. 

From his position hidden behind a container, Jongin watches as Sehun ejects an empty magazine from his weapon and reloads it with a new one. It’s back up and ready in the blink of an eye, held out in a firm grip as Sehun rounds steps into open space and fires without hesitation. 

“Sehun’s going for the lieutenant,” Yixing mutters. “They’ve already arrested a fair number of hitmen and low-ranking officials – or at least, I’m assuming so, because he’s starting to send agents back to the Bureau.”

Jongin whips around, and sure enough, he sees the backlights of an SUV right before it disappears out of view. He turns back to where Sehun was last and sees a ponytail swinging as Karine (he guesses) follows after her partner. She disappears out of view a second later.

“We have to go after him.”

And they do, Yixing using the comms to figure out where Sehun’s moving towards. They catch up to him quickly enough, but just as Jongin’s about to step up and grab Sehun’s attention, Yixing pulls him back. 

“Don’t. You’ll distract him, and any amateur hitman will know to take advantage of that. What we can do is try to sneak up on the enemy. They don’t know we’re here, so –”

Shots explode out of nowhere, sending the two of them diving behind a container. Jongin’s hip collides painfully against the ground as he rolls with his momentum, weapon nearly flying out of his hand. 

“Secure him!” Sehun’s voice, approaching the other side of the container that they’re behind. “Jeff, you stay with him and call in for medical aid. ‘Rine and Henry, you’re with me. We have to catch Keita alive, at all costs.”

Footsteps, followed by the sound of handcuffs snapping shut over someone’s wrist, then pained groans. 

“Oh shut up. It’s a superficial wound, you’re not gonna die.” 

Jongin and Yixing move away from Jeff as the agent calls in for an ambulance, staying close on Sehun’s heels as the agents track down the last man standing. They manage to keep Sehun within view, but when he and the two other agents walk behind a container and don’t reappear in the next few seconds, Jongin’s skin starts to prickle. 

So he gestures to the right and Yixing nods, flanking him as he takes a longer way to where Sehun should be. What he sees when he clears the obstacles in his way doesn’t scare him. No, it infuriates him. For some inexplicable reason, Jongin sees red – is that normal? He wishes he had the answer. 

Who he assumes is Keita has a gun trained right on Sehun’s forehead, the muzzle pressed against bare skin, finger on the trigger. Karine and Henry are on either side of his husband, but it must’ve been a case of “put your gun down or I’ll shoot,” because as Jongin watches, the two agents slowly lower their weapons. 

_Well_ , he thinks, _he wasn’t asked to lower_ his _weapon, was he?_

He lifts his gun, aims, and fires. 

Everything right after that seems to happen in slow-motion: Keita’s face seizing in pain, the gun his grip tumbling out of his hand and onto the ground, the agents’ shock evident in their eyes as they turn in his direction.

“Holy shit,” he hears Yixing say. 

“I shot him in his arm,” his mouth says helpfully, voice perhaps a little louder than necessary. Meanwhile, his brain is still taking some time to catch up. “He’s not gonna die.”

A beat, then Karine nudges Sehun forward as she kicks Keita’s weapon away. 

“Jongin?” 

Sehun’s voice grounds him, somewhat.

“Hm?”

“Can you let go of the gun? Give it to me, yeah?”

Oh. He’s got a death grip around the weapon, knuckles white and palms aching from how hard he’s holding it. “Okay.”

Sehun pries the gun from his hands and tosses it aside. 

“Oh my god,” Sehun mutters fervently, “are you okay? What are you doing here? I can’t –”

“I wasn’t gonna let him shoot you,” Jongin interrupts. “Wasn’t gonna let you die in front of me.”

Sehun, pupils blown wide and looking pale under the moonlight, grabs Jongin’s face between his hands. “You just, oh my god, you just shot the second-in-command.”

“I don’t _fucking_ care who he is, Sehun, he was going to shoot _you_.”

It looks as though Sehun has more to say, but Jongin pushes that much closer and kisses him, stopping the words from coming out. Adrenaline is pumping throughout his bloodstream and he just needs to know that it’s really Sehun who is standing in front of him, that he’s alive and breathing and right here. 

“I would have done it over and over again if it meant you coming home to me,” he whispers against Sehun’s mouth. 

“I know.” 

  
They’re driving down a quiet road when they pass a familiar alleyway. 

“Wait, Yixing. He –”

“He’s probably long gone by now,” Sehun says. “He’ll resurface when it’s time. Don’t worry about him.”

“I just want to thank him.”

Sehun looks over at him and smiles. “You’ll get the chance to.”

Nodding, Jongin looks back out at the passing buildings, their windows dark and doors locked. The city is still asleep, blissfully unaware of everything that has just gone down at the docks. 

“I killed someone,” Jongin blurts. 

Sehun’s hands jerk, sending the car drifting two lanes over. He rights the vehicle immediately, but he pulls to the curb and stops the car soon after. 

“What?”

“I shot someone. He was sneaking up on Yixing and I, and I just…fired. I shot him in the heart, Sehun. He died. I know it’s considered self-defense, but it doesn’t take away the fact that I robbed him of his life.”

Sehun reaches across the center console, hand coming to rest on Jongin’s thigh. “We’ll talk about this when we get home, okay?”

“You’re not going back to the office?”

“No, we’re going home. We’ll take a shower, talk, and go to bed together.”

He lets Jongin lace their fingers together as he sets the car back into drive and presses down on the accelerator. 

“I do want you to consider,” Sehun continues, “going to therapy. The Bureau has a few very capable in-house psychologists for this very issue. It’s never easy taking a life, Jongin, I understand. These professionals are best equipped to handle these situations. If you’re up for it, I can go with you.”

“Have you ever taken a life?”

A pause. “Yeah. The first time happened a few years ago, during a drug bust. They would’ve killed Karine otherwise.”

Jongin closes his eyes. First time, huh. 

The rest of the drive home is spent in silence. 

  
After a very long, very hot bath, they climb into bed. 

Having Sehun back next to him, in their marital bed, is a dream come true. 

He’s feeling a lot calmer now, thanks to the impromptu speech Sehun had given him while they were squished into the tub together. It still doesn’t change the fact that he’d taken someone’s life, nor the fact that despite having arrested the second-in-command, they're still not completely safe until the entire cartel is taken down, but his synapses aren’t firing at such a rapid pace anymore, and the shock is kept at bay. 

There’s about an hour or so until the sun breaks past the horizon, but for now, they lie on their sides swathed in night, faces inches from each other. Sehun’s fingertips are still a little wrinkled, but Jongin doesn’t have any complaints whatsoever, happy to let him run them over his cheekbones and down the slope of his nose. They end up resting against the seam of his lips, a quiet request, and Jongin obliges with a kiss. 

He’s exhausted, he really is, but sleep seems like a mere afterthought when he can spend some time with his husband instead. 

“I love you,” Sehun says, voice soft but words loud and clear. 

“You’re gonna apologise again, aren’t you?” Jongin props himself upright on his elbows. “You know you don’t have to.”

“Yeah, but –”

Jongin kisses him again. “You don’t have to.”

“Yes, but –”

This time, when Jongin leans in, Sehun is ready for him. 

A foot comes around the back of his thigh and before Jongin knows it, he’s pulled atop of Sehun. Years ago, when they’d first slept together, Sehun had told him that he likes having weight on him because it makes him feel safe. The warmth of someone else’s body and the skin-on-skin contact brings about such a desire of being the centre of the person’s universe that he subconsciously seeks it out every time. 

Over the years, this hasn’t changed. 

As much as Sehun enjoys it, so does Jongin. The warmth of Sehun’s skin is intoxicating and Jongin presses closer, using memory alone to navigate his way around Sehun’s frame. He presses a kiss to the corner of Sehun’s mouth, then moves down to the jut of his clavicle, then to the hollow of his throat. His scent is the strongest there, inches from his heart, and Jongin breathes in deep. 

Sometimes, words are not needed, and this so happens to be one of those times. Fingers worm their way into Jongin’s hair, grip gentle but firm enough to guide him a little further south. His lips start a blazing trail down Sehun’s sternum, pausing to pull a nipple between his teeth before he continues, stopping at the graceful dip of Sehun’s navel. 

He looks up at Sehun, at his soft smile and the love in his eyes. 

They’re tired, but making love doesn’t have to be complicated. 

Jongin moves back up and Sehun meets him halfway, lips parting for him as Jongin snakes a hand between their bodies. Sehun’s body rouses at his touch like petals unfurling under sunlight, and it isn’t long before he’s hard in Jongin’s hand, flushed warm. 

There’s no thought process to this. It’s natural, a certain type of dance between them that they have long since perfected. From the amount of pressure in a kiss to the way a throat works around a leaking cock, they have it all figured out. 

The hand around Sehun’s cock moves up to rest over his heart, feeling the steady beat as Sehun links his fingers behind the curve of Jongin’s neck, hips gyrating ever-so-slightly against Jongin’s own erection for friction. 

Pleasure rises like a cresting wave, sparked higher with each swipe of tongues into mouths or a thumb across a hardened nipple. 

“Do you,” Jongin whispers, “do you want kids?”

The tiniest sound escapes from between Sehun’s lips. “A boy and a girl,” Sehun replies, breathless. 

Jongin laughs, a mixture of relief and happiness and love. “Okay, a boy and a girl.”

With a nice, slow grind of his hips, Sehun comes. 

  
It’s past noon when Jongin wakes. He’d slept through the night, dreamless, but at the same time very aware that Sehun was by his side the entire time. Glancing to the right, he sees that Sehun is still here. 

Still asleep, Sehun’s got a pillow clutched to his chest and his hair is in disarray – Jongin’s pretty sure he’s never seen such a perfect sight. He would stay and drink it all in for a while longer, but his stomach growls a little too loudly for his preference. 

Shit, there’s no food whatsoever in the house. 

But an idea comes to mind and Jongin quietly slips out of bed, grabbing some clothes along the way. 

He finds his own phone exactly where he’d left it, and as it loads up, he heads into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Sehun is still asleep after he’s done, so Jongin heads downstairs with the phone held up to his ear. 

“Hello?”

“What – Kim Jongin?!”

“Hey, Irene.”

“You have _so_ much explaining to do, Kim, you know that?”

Jongin takes out a new bag of coffee beans – coffee is something this house will always have – and pours the needed amount into the machine. “I know. I can explain everything if you bring breakfast.”

“It’s lunchtime, you idiot.” Jongin can’t help but grin as she continues to grumble. “Fine, I’ll be there in an hour. If I get you something you don’t like, like tomatoes in a sandwich, it’s not my fault.”

Things are by no means over. He’ll have to go back to the Bureau with Sehun to recount everything he’d done the night before and to go through future steps, and odds are it’ll take up the rest of the day. But they have to start doing what they can to return to life before Sehun’s disappearance (or at least as close to it as possible), and Jongin thinks this is an important step. 

There are a few messages left on his phone from his parents – once he’s eaten and is prepared, he’ll give them a call. 

“G’morning.” 

Jongin turns around to see Sehun shuffling down the steps, pants hanging low on sharp hips and the indentations of their sheets still visible on his skin. His hair isn’t messy though; he must have already washed up. 

“Good afternoon,” Jongin corrects. “Coffee?”

He fills a mug and passes it to Sehun, who takes a large gulp and sighs, pleased. 

“Nothing beats coffee at home,” he mumbles, taking another sip. He locks eyes with Jongin over the rim of the mug. “Love you.”

“I love you too.” Jongin reaches out with a foot until their toes bump. “Irene’s coming in an hour, she’s bringing us food.”

Sehun blanches visibly. “Irene? Oh god, she’s gonna kill me when she finds out what happened. Can I go to the office first? You can meet me there!”

Jongin laughs so hard that he nearly spills his coffee. 

“Not funny!” Sehun complains. “She once punched me in the arm because I forgot to bring you the right pair of shoes for that hike you guys had, and you ended up getting a blister. _It bruised!_ ”

**Author's Note:**

> Didn't expect this to be so action-centered, but I'm not too mad at it!
> 
> I know the prompt was rated E, but I felt like focusing more on the emotional aspect of their relationship vs. the sexual aspect. Hope that what's included is enough ><
> 
> Thank you so much to the mods + the prompter!


End file.
